


Camp Awkward

by Hannigrammatic



Category: Adam (2009), Charlie Countryman (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkwardness, Camping, First Meetings, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-20 22:05:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6026929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannigrammatic/pseuds/Hannigrammatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam meets Nigel on his first camp trip. One of them is more prepared than the other!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Branches Are Rude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TaeAelin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaeAelin/gifts).



> Inspired by and dedicated to [TaeAelin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TaeAelin/profile) ^_^ You fill my days with flailing delight and gorgeous Spacedogs/Hannigram feels. Bless you and thank you for being in my life in this wondrous fandom~!!! 
> 
> My contribution to Spacedogs week! In love with this story already -it was originally going to be a one-shot, but it's getting so LONG. So it'll be put up in parts as I continue to write!! 
> 
> * SPACEDOGS APPRECIATION WEEK YAY! *

Adam’s newfound bravery falters just a bit after he leaves the small, quaint building. The sun beats down on the dirt road where his small blue car is parked, reflecting off of the metallic surface and throwing slashes of light across the young man’s vision briefly. He ducks his head and frowns down at the pamphlet in his hand, blinking rapidly and nearly stumbling over his own feet. 

Despite traveling many miles (and getting lost twice), he suddenly wishes he hadn’t decided to go camping. True, the city prevented him from seeing much of the sky and the constellations that fascinated him, which had inspired him to make this trip in the first place, but now that he’s reserved his site, Adam feels anxious. He gets in behind the wheel once more, closes the door gently, and then sits in the hot car, fingers tapping out a rhythm on his thighs as he observes the thick forest that surrounds the area. 

Everything is new and out of his control, and he squeezes his eyes shut, focusing on his fingertips as they begin to drum out a familiar pattern, a calming _normalness_ that he can bring with him anywhere.

“I made it this far,” he reminds himself.

And with that, he starts the car and drives slowly down the dirt road, spirits rising the further he maneuvers passed trees and grass and, eventually, other people lazing about outside tents or camper trailers or RVs, firepits smoking and faces relaxed.

*.*.*.*

His campsite is located in a sizeable inlet around a corner of trees, the road rockier and bumpier as he slowly directs his car onwards. There’s a beaten wooden sign stuck into the ground by it, old paint peeling and chipped, but a newly spray-painted ‘24’ is bright and clear, having obviously been replaced frequently. Adam turns the steering wheel and backs up his car until he’s partially parked on the grass, and then he slips out the driver’s side door before he can worry himself anymore.

In the next thirty-five minutes, he sets up the bright orange tent that he’d purchased, perusing the instruction manual once before efficiently assembling poles and fabric. After that, he glances at the firepit, blackened remains looking far removed from the nature around it, vibrant green grass and tall, sturdy trees standing like sentinels around the inlet. He cranes his neck at the sky and feels like everything is worth it when he gets an unobstructed view of blue with a few fat clouds drifting languidly by.

It’s going to be beautiful at night.

He smiles to himself and then begins to unpack his telescope, pleasure rippling through his chest as he begins to look forward to that evening as the seconds tick by. He sets the equipment up on its tripod after finding a level patch of ground, and then stands back. Everything is so tranquil, the songs of nature gentle in the breeze that stirs the leaves on the trees and teases through his hair. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply of the air here that is clean and fulfilling, the pollution of the city no longer potent and heavy.

“ _Fucking fuck, how the fuck is that-_ ”

Loud cursing interrupts Adam’s calm like a record coming to an abrupt, screeching halt. He opens his eyes and tilts his head in the direction the angry voice is coming from. The trees are many and thick at the tops, but through the trunks and the underbrush, he can vaguely see the campsite next to him. There’s a man flailing his hands in the air, and it’s him that the loudness is coming from. Without thinking, Adam lumbers into the trees and heads toward the stranger, noting very quickly that he’s having trouble setting up his tent.  
He pushes through a bush with his mouth opened, intending to greet the man and offer his assistance, but instead he finds himself looking down the barrel of a shiny silver revolver.

“Uhm,” he manages, mouth opening and closing.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m Adam,” the young man offers his name, filled with confusion.

The gun means danger, and that the man feels threatened. But the weapon would be more familiar in a robbing or a murder than a casual conversation, or in this case, a greeting gone awry. Adam is uncertain how to continue, so he closes his mouth and flicks his eyes along a muscular arm, broad shoulders, and a face that is equal parts handsome and terrifying. The man has long sandy-blonde hair and a tattoo on his neck. He’s dressed in jeans and a dark button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up passed his forearms and the collar folded neatly.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Adams says matter-of-factly, and he doesn’t realize that he forgot to point to the tent until the man’s pale brow raises and his lip curls back in a silent snarl.

“I’m doing _what_ fucking wrong?” the stranger waggles the gun in the air with a huff of breath. 

“The tent. You’re doing it wrong.”

Silence falls over the clearing. The man’s campsite is in a disarray, the box that had once housed the tent thrown at some point and having landed on a branch, sticking up like a strange prosthetic limb. The back of a van is opened and parked much like Adam had done with his own car, only there’s chaos within. Plastic bags and bedding and what appears to be a cooler for drinks resides within, flipped on its side most likely by accident, liquid dripping onto the floor in the back. There’s a folding chair, one of the fabric ones, quite like Adam’s own, dark blue instead of his glaringly red one. It’s situated by the firepit, and there’s something smoking in there already -several somethings, it appears. Adam scrunches his nose when he spots the half a dozen cigarette butts littering the unlit pit.

“No fucking shit,” the man finally says. “Did you come over here just to fucking tell me that?”

“Yes,” Adam deadpans. “I also came to offer my assistance, however.”

“I don’t need your fucking help, kid.”

The man lowers the revolver finally, rolls his eyes heavenward, and tucks it into the waist of his jeans. It’s a relief to Adam, who had felt incredibly uncomfortable conversing with a gun pointed at him.

“I think you do, actually,” he continues. “I could hear you swearing from my campsite.”

“Could you now? My fucking apologies, then,” the stranger bows at the waist dramatically and then shakes his head. “Fucking hell. Just go away, I _don’t_ need your help.”

“Oh. Okay, then,” Adam turns and takes a loud, cracking step back into the underbrush.

“Wait!”

Jumping, the young man looks back, eyes wide. The stranger is running a hand through his hair and sighing loudly, and he gestures flatly at the pile of poles that are haphazardly assembled.  
“Alright, I need help. I don’t know a fucking thing about putting a tent together. I was just gonna fucking sleep in the back of the van if I couldn’t get it,” he confesses with a snort.

“That would defeat the purpose of camping,” Adam informs the other with his own brow raised now.

“No shit,” more flailing hand gestures follow the comment, and then the man turns away and starts fumbling in the back of his van with another curse when he notices the nearly upended cooler. “Fucking hell. Hey, you want a beer?”

“Oh, no thank you. I don’t like beer,” Adam looks over at the tent-to-be and realizes quickly that he won't be helping so much as _doing_ the work himself.

It’s no matter, however. He marches over and begins to put it together, memory serving him much better than the rumpled paper instructions cast onto the ground. Within fifteen minutes he has it put together, a one-person forest green tent, and he steps back with his hands on his hips and a smile on his lips. Turning, he finds the stranger sitting, legs stretched in front of him and a can of beer resting in the cozy stitched into the armrest of the folding chair. He’s looking at Adam with both brows raised now and a smirk on his face.

“Sweet,” he says. “Thanks, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” Adam points out. “You’re welcome, though.”

Adam blinks between the tent and the lounging man, and belatedly feels proud of himself. Not only did he socialize, but he also managed to help, and having just set up his own tent for the first time, he was thankful that he had the experience to have expedited the process here. However, as he stands there, conversation having faded into an awkward silence, he regrets it slightly because of the expression on the man’s face. He looks angry, but also not -his lips are still turned with distaste, and he furrow his brows as the seconds tick by and Adam remains standing there like a deer caught in headlights.

“You want something else?” the question is asked gruffly.

“Oh. No, I don’t, thank you. Goodbye.”

Without further comment, Adam trudges back into the trees, arriving at his own campsite. In the next several hours that pass, he manages to unfold his sleeping bag inside of the tent comfortably, fluffing up the pillow he had brought from home. It’s his favorite one with the star pattern on the pillowcase, inaccurate of course, as the stars are actually cartoon ones and adorned with cute smiling faces, but he loves it regardless. He remembers buying it on one of his first trips out of his new home (not including the daily adventure he took going to work at the Observatory!). 

He smiles and smoothes his bedding once more, and then crawls out of the tent to begin unpacking his other supplies.

*.*.*.*

Night is falling when the sound of twigs snapping and loud expletives invades Adam’s solitude. He’s just got his fire started and his chair set out, as well his own cooler propped on the fold-out table next to it. There’s a bag of marshmallows by the cooler, and a metal roasting stick propped up and in reach. 

“Fucking shit trees,” the familiar voice heralds the stranger’s arrival.

Adam looks up and finds he has to cover his mouth quickly. It’s rude to laugh at people, but the man looks so very _angry_ at the branches poking him. He’s considerably taller than Adam himself, and his hair hasn’t faired very well in trek over, sticking on end in a few places. Dark eyes narrow over at Adam, who is standing near his fire, and the young man wonders if he’s failed to hide his amusement.

“Hi,” he greets. “What do you want?”

“What do I wa- fucking shit. Nothing, I don’t want anything,” the man throws his arms up in the air as if to make his point, before side-eyeing the fire.

“Why are you here?” Adam asks with honest curiosity, and is proud that he isn’t pointing a gun at the man in return for earlier -not that he even has one, but still.

“Uhm,” there’s a brief moment where the stranger glances between Adam, the blazing, warm fire, and the darkening sky. “Fire.”

“What about fire?” Adam asks.

“Can you help me start my fucking fire?”

“Oh, sure!”

Together they traverse through the trees once more, and arrive at the other’s campsite. Nothing has changed much, other than a few empty cans of beer decorating the ground. The firepit has a few more butts poking out of it, and as Adam observes this, the man lights another cigarette and plants it between his lips. 

“Where’s your wood?” Adam inquires.

“What?”

“Wood. For the fire.”

Dawning realization falls over handsome, angular features.

“The campsite doesn’t come with any?” is the question that falls from the corner of the man’s mouth, ciggie poking out and remaining unlit for now.

“No. You have to purchase your own. You can use some of mine, though. I’ll be right back!”

Another two trips, and Adam returns with a few logs, lights a match, and nurses a fire into a smaller blaze than his own but still growing. He’d purchased plenty of firewood already, more than he’ll probably use. When he researched what to bring on his trip, he had doubled -or sometimes tripled- the amount of necessities, not wanting to be caught unawares or in need of assistance himself. Adam prides himself on being prepared.

“There you go!” he beams at the fire and then smiles at the man.

“Thanks, ki- I mean, thanks. Uh,” another wave of large hand. “Shit. What’s your fucking name again?”

“Adam,” the young man supplies without issue. “What’s yours?”

“Nigel,” the other grunts. “So yeah. Thanks a fucking lot.”

“You’re welcome, Nigel! Nice to meet, you by the way. Thank you for not pointing the gun at me again,” Adam’s smile widens.

“No...problem?” Nigel scratches the back of his neck, and then finally lights his cigarette.  
“Bye!” Adam waves and then strolls away.

When he gets back to his campsite, he shuts the open trunk of his car where the rest of his food remains. He’s got a Coleman stove and plenty of fuel, and he also has an electric lantern, and he takes out the latter to set it nearby for when he needs it, new batteries ready to be put to use. He plops himself into the folding chair and smiles up at the sky, happiness bubbling over at the first few twinkles of stars. He’s now rather glad that he’s gone on this trip.

*.*.*.*

The flames undulate and reach around the marshmallow, roasting the tasty treat quickly, and Adam pulls the metal stick out of the fire and grins at the melting, burnt mass of sugar on the end of one of the prongs. He’s only ever had marshmallows in his hot chocolate, and only then once in a while, preferring his orange soda to anything else. But the videos he had watched on the internet, and the pictures he had seen on Google showed him happy people roasting marshmallows over an open fire, smiles big and and expectant. It’s a staple of camping, he knows. He’s also bought hot dogs to cook over the fire as well, although he’s not very hungry at the moment, anxiety slowly petering out of his system, stomach still a little tight at the new experience he is undertaking.

When he takes the first tentative nibble of the marshmallow after blowing the smoke away and giving it a moment to cool, Adam nearly purrs. It’s delicious! He doesn’t even care that it’s a messy endeavor, knowing that he can clean his fingers after. It’s the experience that counts, after all. He finishes the marshmallow quickly, and is reaching for another one when Nigel appears from a bush, brushing a few twigs off of his person and managing not to swear up and down the forest this time.

“Hello, Nigel,” Adam waves happily. “Do you need more help?”  
“Ugh. No, I don’t need any fucking help,” Nigel grumbles.

He swears so much. But Adam is polite, and he has learned over time that a lot of people don’t like it when he points out things regarding their person. And furthermore, Nigel doesn’t sound exactly angry -well, he kind of sounds angry all the time, Adam amends inwardly; no, it seems that Nigel’s efficiency in swearing stems from habit instead. It’s another thing that Adam is proud of himself for having picked up, even if it had been belatedly.

“Okay. What do you want?” the young man asks.

“To say sorry? For pointing the gun at you and shit,” Nigel answers. “Uh. So yeah. Sorry about that.”

“Oh that’s fine. I realized when I got back that I probably scared you,” Adam comments.

“You didn’t fucking sc- Ergh,” Nigel raked his hands through his hair. “Yeah, okay. So like… you go camping often or what?”

“This is my first time,” Adam says proudly. “Do you want a marshmallow?”

“...yes?”

Adam tilts his head at Nigel and then offers him the roasting stick, unmelted marshmallow stuck on the end. The man stares at it and then shrugs before strolling over and grabbing it. He shoves the marshmallow into the flames and waits. Silence as another few minutes pass.

“You can take it out now,” Adam instructs, but it’s too late.

The marshmallow is charred into a crisp, and it crinkles off into the fire. Nigel grumbles loudly and then hands the roasting stick back to Adam, who’s already reaching for another fluffy treat.

“Try again!” he passes it back, and Nigel looks over at him, the flames climbing high, sparks and ashes trailing into the sky.

This time, Nigel is successful. He manages to burn himself on the cooked morsel, however, not waiting enough time or even blowing on it to cool it down. Eventually he takes a sticky bite and hums his approval, and Adam smiles at him.

“You can have more, if you’d like,” the young man offers.

Normally, Adam would be fine with working through the hurdles of socializing and not looking back. He craves solitude and he enjoys being alone more than he does much else. At home, he is content to remain indoors and read or research or watch his favorite shows. It’s different out here, though, and honestly, he’s starting to enjoy Nigel, gruffness and all. He doesn’t put any stock into silly things like fate or the like, of course, however he’s starting to think that perhaps he’s found an opportunity to make a friend that he wouldn’t have under other circumstances.

“Thanks, man,” Nigel mutters around a mouthful of marshmallow, and he swallows before continuing. “I’m gonna go grab my chair, though, okay? Standing sucks.”

“Of course,” Adam nods sagely.

Nigel returns and sets up his chair by the fire and Adam. As the night around them grows darker, the two men pass the roasting stick back and forth, enjoying a feast of cooked marshmallows and silence that is for the time no longer awkward. Adam stokes the fire with a large stick he’d acquired earlier, and then adds another log, before sitting back in his chair and reaching for the cooler. Within are several neat rows of his favorite brand of orange soda, and he twists the cap off one bottle after shaking the excess liquid onto the ground. He takes a long, grateful gulp, and swallows with a smile.

“So you really haven’t gone camping before?” Nigel asks just then.

“Why would I lie about that?” Adam tilts his head once more in curiosity.

“I don’t fucking know. You just seem… so prepared. And shit,” Nigel wiggles long fingers in the air, gesturing at Adam’s tidy campsite.

“It’s very important to be prepared in a new situation,” the young man remarks. “Of course there will always be unknown variables that can potentially cause issues. That’s just life, though.”

“Yeah, fucking life. Uh. So you have a telescope?” Nigel is looking over at the device propped up on its tripod.

“Yes. I came out here specifically to see the stars. The amount of pollution in the city renders most of the sky inaccessible,” Adam explains. “It’s pointless trying to see stars there.”

“City boy, huh?”

“I’m not a boy,” the young man frowns. “I’m thirty-four, actually.”

“It’s just a fuckin- Blegh. Nevermind.”

They lapse into silence once more, Nigel frowning into the fire. Adam is fine with the quiet, and he sips his soda contentedly. Crickets are chirping in the underbrush, and a breeze dances through the air, stirring the smoke rising from the firepit. The bag of marshmallows is mostly empty now, and Adam reaches into it and retrieves a few of them. He pops one into his mouth unroasted and makes a soft sound of delight, deciding that so far, it’s his favorite part of camping -well, other than the stars, of course.

Adam leans back in his chair and marvels at the expanse of sky and the blanket of stars winking down at him. It’s truly a perfect night.

“I’m gonna go to fucking bed,” Nigel says loudly. “Thanks for the… stuff. Was nice hanging out.”

“You’re welcome, Nigel,” Adam smiles brightly. “Goodnight!”

“Same to you,” the man gruffly replies, and he collapses his chair and disappears back into the trees.

Adam finishes off the marshmallows gladly. The fire is still crackling strong when he makes certain the cooler is shut, before setting it on the ground near his tent. He sets the roasting stick across the arms of his chair, drags it a few paces away from the fire, and then decides to turn in for the night. He can make use of his telescope tomorrow night -he has more than enough time, having taken the week off from work for his trip. Retrieving the lantern, he unzips his tent and crawls inside, wiggles his shoes off of his feet, and then seals the flap shut behind. In time, he’s snuggled up in his sleeping bag, a book open and held close to his face, and he reads in the light of the lantern sitting close by.

All in all, his trip has been a success so far. Adam falls asleep that night looking forward to the next day, and he wonders absently if Nigel will join him again. He likes the man, to be honest, copious swearing and not-angry-angriness and all.

There’s a smile on the young man’s face when he drifts off and dreams about the stars above.


	2. Effing Tent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journey of milk, pots, and toilet paper.
> 
> Yes, Nigel forgot to bring toilet paper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -giggles-
> 
> These two dorks, I swear to god ♥
> 
> Not beta read~

When Adam wakes up, there are birds twittering and chirping from the trees. He lounges around, still securely zipped up in his sleeping bag, and smiles sleepily, surprised at how easily he’d managed to fall asleep the previous evening. New atmospheres generally had him in varying stages of panic, some worse than others, but being out here in the semi-wilderness -well, it’s peaceful, and it makes it easier to relax. And tonight he’ll see the stars.

He unzips his warm cocoon and wiggles out of it, and for a moment he frowns, looking down at himself. He’d forgotten to change before bed last night, too caught up with the newness of everything. There were no concrete routines out here, though he supposes with several days ahead of him, he could fashion one easily. He fumbles for the zipper on the tent’s flap and opens it to slip out into the early morning, and then steps into his shoes and smiles up at the sky. Dew glitters on the grass, sparkling under the sun already beating down on the campsite. 

Adam heads over to his car, opens the trunk, and then retrieves his prim black suitcase, the one with his initials stitched onto the front. His friend Harlan had bought it for him before he moved to L.A, and it had served him loyally since. The neatly folded bundles of clothes within greet him when he opens it, and with a sleepy hum, he picks out a new outfit for the day, deciding on something loose and comfy to accommodate his plans. However, once he returns his suitcase to the car, he’s faced with an issue -where does he change into his clean clothes? 

“I made it this far,” he reminds himself again, and then he proceeds to strip where he’s standing and slip into his fresh garments swiftly, shivering briefly as a slight chill kisses his bare skin.

He knows he could have squeezed into the car to shimmy into his outfit there, but that sounds about as appealing as doing the same in the tent. The odds of anyone seeing him are slim, at any rate, and he comforts himself with that fact and pushes the matter from his mind. He bundles up his dirty clothes and sets them gently in the hamper that sits snug between his returned suitcase and the sizeable plastic crate that held all of his food. Everything is a close fit in the back of the car, one thing piled atop the other, a jigsaw puzzle of his own making and more supplies than anyone would need, let alone a single man. It’s comfortable, though, knowing he won’t run out.

Or have to ask anyone for help.

At that thought, Adam suddenly remembers Nigel. He glances through the trees over at the man’s campsite, and it doesn’t take long to determine that the other is still sleeping; the air is bereft of his continuous exhale of curse words. It’s almost a blessed silence in contrast, although Adam doesn’t truly mind. Nigel is a nice man, once you got passed the gun-waving. And the seemingly permanent frown on his lips -oh, and the almost growling timbre of his voice. Truthfully, Nigel reminds Adam of a bear, big and (probably) hairy and loud, roars traded for expletives and claws for the shiny metal of his revolver.

Adam smiles and flips open the crate to grab a box of his favorite cereal, a bowl, and- 

He freezes. _He’d forgotten to purchase milk, of all things!_

Adam knows this immediately because his cooler is stocked with orange soda, not milk. His earlier thought of being prepared vanishes and he feels his nerves quivering at his failure, even if it’s not really that big of a deal -to him, it’s another unexpected dilemma just like the clothes had been, and while he knows he should be ready for obstacles on this trip, it doesn’t change the tiny stab disappointment in his gut. He returns the cereal, closes the crate, and fidgets with the bowl, running his fingers along the smooth plastic edge, circling it in his hands and looking down at it as if held the answer to his problem instead of being a part of it. 

“ _Fucking hell!_ ” a loud, familiar voice interrupts his thoughts.

Seconds later he’s trampling through the trees and pushing through a bush into Nigel’s campsite, bowl still grasped firmly in his hand and mouth opened with a question perching on the tip of his tongue. Instead his jaw clicks closed and his chest pulls tight with a laugh that _needs_ to get out, and it does when he finally can’t help it any longer. Nigel has managed to get tangled in his sleeping bag, and he’s half sprawled on the ground, hair in his face and messed from his inability to successfully exit the tent.

“Adam? What the fuck are you doing here?” Nigel squints up at him through his hair.

“I came to ask if you had any milk,” the young man states around a giggle.

“Milk,” Nigel repeats the word, sounding dumbfounded, and remains partially lying on the ground with his feet still hopelessly tangled in the sleeping bag.

“Yes, for cereal,” Adam lifts the bowl as if to demonstrate, and then remembers his manners. “Do you need help getting out of the tent?”

“No, I do _not_ need help, thank you very much,” Nigel growls.

“You’re welcome,” the bowl lowers. “But do you have milk?”

Nigel lets out a long, loud growl, and the sound of ripping fabric fills the air. Seconds later, the man is struggling to his feet and swaying gently, one hand attempting to tame the mass of sandy blonde hair that’s making a great effort at combating gravity, the other smoothing over the dense mass of curls sprouting from his naked chest. Adam blinks, eyes following the motion of the latter. Definitely a bear.

“I don’t have any fucking milk, Adam,” Nigel finally answers. “You sure you don’t have any? Figured you were prepared for anything over there.”

“It’s impossible to be prepared for anything, because anything means anything can happen,” Adam says. “Anyway, thank you. I’ll just have to find a store.”

“You could always just eat more marshmallows,” the man mumbles.

“For breakfast?” Adam frowns at the thought.

“Why the fuck not?” Nigel rolls his neck and rotates one of his shoulders to work out a kink, and then he’s bending over to lean back into his tent to rummage around.

“It doesn’t sound very appealing,” Adam shakes his head. “Okay, I’m going now. Bye, Nigel.”

“Yeah, see ya,” Nigel stands again to wave at him, pack of cigarettes acquired.

Adam returns to his site and sets his bowl on the fold-out table, and then casts a look around himself. Today he’d planned to hike on one of the trails after breakfast, but without milk he couldn’t have his cereal, so he amended his plans and grabbed his keys. His little blue car crackles over the dirt road, map opened and spread on the seat beside him, and as he drives passed Nigel’s campsite, the man is smoking a ciggie and sitting by the blackened firepit disconsolately.

*.*.*.*

It’s near noon when Adam returns from the store, having managed to get lost three times before locating a tiny corner store. He marks the location on his map for future reference, though, and feels accomplished as he drives back to the campgrounds with the jug of milk sitting on his lap. He parks his car and circles around to the trunk to get the box of cereal, and minutes later he’s sitting down to a belated breakfast. He munches away happily and smiles up at the treetops as a bird squawks and flies out of sight.

“Hey, kid,” Nigel’s voice calls out just then.

“Hi, Nigel. My name is Adam, not kid,” Adam politely reminds the man.

“Ugh. I know, Adam. Listen, do you have any toilet paper?”

“Of course. Do you need some?” the young man is glad to assist his new friend, although he’s starting to wonder why Nigel is camping when he’s clearly not very prepared.

“No, I just came here to ask if you had any,” Nigel rolls his eyes and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“Okay. I do, thank you for asking,” it was a strange topic to start with, the young man decides, but he supposes it’s still something.

“For fucks sake, Adam. _Yes_ , I need some damn toilet paper. I was being fucking sarcastic,” Nigel sounds angry now -well, angrier-, and Adam frowns once more.

“I’m not very good with sarcasm,” he says, and then continues; “You can have some toilet paper. You should probably buy some, though. I can lend you my map so that you can go to the store, if you’d like.”

“That would be fucking grand, darling,” is the reply.

Adam stands and heads to his car once more, opens one of the twelve-packs of double rolls of toilet paper, and then returns to Nigel with one.

“Adam,” he reminds the man as he hands him the roll.

“What?” Nigel accepts it and looks down at him with a pale brow raised. 

“My name is Adam. Not darling. Or kid.”

Nigel opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and then snaps it shut and waves the roll of toilet paper in the air. Adam can’t tell, but he _thinks_ the man looks constipated now, and he’s about to ask if Nigel is when the other sighs longsufferingly.

“Gotcha,” he says. “Thanks for the TP, _Adam_.”

“You’re welcome, Nigel,” a bright smile is turned on the taller man, and then Adam walks away to clean up after his breakfast as the sounds of snapping twigs and a volley of _fucks_ announces Nigel’s departure.

Later, with noon carrying the sun high in the sky, Adam gathers a few supplies to go hiking. A backpack with water and protein bars (they’re pretty gross, he personally thinks, but Google said that they were best for this endeavor), his comfortable, lightweight clothes, and a pair of boots with suitable treads on them complete his ensemble, and he leaves his campsite to locate the trail he’d seen earlier. He waves at Nigel as he passes the man by, and smiles at the two-finger salute that’s returned to him. 

*.*.*.*

His watch says it’s almost five in the evening when he returns. Adam is exhausted and ready to curl up in his tent, but he wants to look at the stars tonight, and furthermore it’s time for dinner. The forecast for this week had claimed clear skies and sunshine, and he hoped it would indeed persist. He rounds the corner of his little inlet of land, already removing the backpack to set aside. 

“There you fucking are,” Nigel exclaims.

He’s sitting in Adam’s chair by the charred remnants of the firepit. Where he was previously tapping one leg impatiently up and down, now he’s launching himself to his feet and standing there awkwardly. Adam wonders how long he’s been there waiting, and then he feels confused as the situation catches up with him and he realizes that Nigel looks concerned.

“Are you okay, Nigel?” he asks. “Did something happen?”

“I’m fucking fine,” the man snapped. “Just- Errrgh. Nevermind. Where the fuck were you?”

“I went hiking. The trails here are quite an adventure. I’m not used to it, and there was a lot of uphill travel. Why do you ask?”

“You were gone forever,” a large hand flaps in the air uncertainly. 

“Actually I was only gone for approximately four and a half hours.”

Nigel flops back into Adam’s chair and squints up at him. He looks like he’s trying to figure out a particularly difficult equation -that, or he’s constipated again. It would explain the need for toilet paper, Adam supposes, as so far he’s personally only had to travel to the outhouse once after all of those marshmallows. Otherwise, trees offer him cover and the comfort to urinate peacefully. Still, he smiles up at Nigel reassuringly.

“Would you like to join me for dinner?” he asks. “I’m going to make macaroni and cheese.”

“Uhm. Yeah,” Nigel is still staring at him with furrowed brows. “How are you going to make that?”

“With a pot,” Adam informs his friend.

“Oh.”

Several minutes later, Adam has the Coleman stove out, filled with fuel, and a small pot to set on one of the two burners. He places it all on the table and then pauses.

“I didn’t buy water,” he announces. 

“There’s a spout at the end of the road,” Nigel perks up. “That way. I’ll get you some water, k- Adam.”

“Thank you, Nigel!” 

The man shakes his head and smiles crookedly, snatches up the pot, and then strolls off. He returns several minutes later with it partially filled and hands it back to the younger man. Adam smiles again, sets it on the burner, and then switches on the stove to begin heating the water. The next fifteen minutes or so pass by with Nigel hovering over the young man as he stirs the hard pasta into the boiling water, and then adds the packet of powdered cheese after it’s finished cooking. Soon, they’re both sitting down to eat, the older man having dragged his chair over, and Adam having acquired another bowl from the set he’d purchased before his trip, as well as some silver utensils.

“You going hiking tomorrow?” Nigel questions around a mouthful of cheesy pasta.

“No, I’m going to stay here and read,” Adam chews and swallows his food politely before answering. “Are you?”

“Fuck no. I’d get lost in seconds!”

“It’s a trail, you can’t get lost, Nigel,” the young man’s voice sounds matter-of-fact.

“Trust me, darling. I’d find a way.”

Adam opens his mouth to remind his new friend that his name is Adam, but then he closes it as he calculates Nigel’s tone and expression. He’s no stranger to terms of endearment when they make sense, and he’d honestly just assumed the other kept forgetting his name, so hearing the word again throws him for a loop briefly. In the end he concludes that it’s just like the man’s tendency to swear -a habit and nothing more. Smiling brightly, pleased with his newfound understanding, Adam finishes his dinner with gusto.

“You putting that baby to good use tonight, I take it?” the man continues speaking with his mouth full, and he points at the telescope with his fork.

“It’s a telescope,” Adam deadpans.

“I know it’s a fucking telescope, Adam. Fucking hell! Just answer the goddamn question, okay?”

“Alright. Yes, I am going to look at the stars,” Adam shakes his head once and then brightens up. “Would you like to join me? We can look at the constellations.”

“I don’t know jackshit about constellations or stars or any sort of space shit, but sure.”

Nigel leans back in his chair with the now emptied bowl clasped in his lap. His hair is smoothed back over his head now, though a few wayward strands fall into his eyes every now and then. His chin is dark with stubble, and this close, Adam can see a scar on the bridge of his nose. He’s pretty sure Nigel’s managed that by smacking his head on something unsuspecting, and though he’s itching to ask what exactly, he knows it would be impolite. It’s not every day that he makes a new friend, however, and naturally he finds himself quite curious about Nigel.

“I can teach you,” Adam settles with saying that, and he’s genuine with the offer.

“I’d like that, Adam,” Nigel’s smile still looks like a grimace, but it’s there and Adam feels proud.

After dinner Nigel returns to his own campsite for a beer, and then stomps back with the entire cooler instead, nudging it into the dirt near his chair. He watches Adam coax the fire into existence after piling fresh logs in the pit, and then they sit together quietly as dusk falls over them with singing crickets and another pleasant breeze. It’s truly beautiful out here, and the weather is proving to be incredibly suitable to his trip, and it’s another reason to be pleased for Adam. He’s not only solved his milk dilemma, he’s also managed to take care of every obstacle as it arose.

Adam looks up to meet Nigel’s eyes briefly and finds that the other had chosen that exact moment to look at him. The young man isn’t fond of eye contact at all, as it makes him nervous, and while he’s quick to flit his gaze back towards the dancing flames, he still manages to determine that Nigel’s eyes are more maroon than just brown. It’s a nice color. They share a companionable silence despite the fumbled meeting of eyes (though Nigel’s complexion has darkened slightly, a ruddiness flushing over his cheeks, and Adam wants to ask if he’s feeling alright.)

It’s going to be another wonderful night, Adam decides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fluff and eventual cuddles to follow :D


	3. Stupid Trail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nigel gets them lost and mother natures decides to be funny.
> 
> Also, more marshmallows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta read~

Adam sleeps in later the next day, well into the morning, and the first thought he has is about Nigel, peering at the stars through the telescope last night. He’d listened attentively, though Adam could tell at the time that he didn’t necessarily understand or particularly care (he seemed more focused on watching Adam’s mouth when he wasn’t blinking into the telescope, which had been sort of strange, but Nigel did a lot of strange things). Still, it had been an incredible experience for the young man, who isn’t used to anyone giving him the time of day to speak so freely and openly.

He changes his clothes in the tent this time, selecting a warm pair of dark brown corduroy pants, his favorite socks that sort of match his pillowcase with their cartoon star design, and a black cardigan over a white t shirt. It’s chillier outside than it has been since he started his trip, and there are sadly only a few slivers of blue sky peeking out between heavy, grey clouds. He’s frowning up at them when Nigel makes his early, surprisingly not frazzled appearance. He’s wearing a navy blue henley and black sweatpants, and, oddly enough, a pair of sandals with socks. Adam is aware that that is a fashion faux pas, though he’s never really cared -he only remembers it because when he was in highschool, the youngest out of everyone, he’d worn similar on his feet and had been laughed at. It never makes sense to him, and likely never will, and at any rate, Nigel looks happy and comfortable, and his perpetually angry face is softened into a frown instead of a scowl.

He’s holding a jug of milk aloft, victorious.

“Milk,” he proclaims.

Adam blinks at it, and then tilts his head up at the man.

“Why are you showing me your milk?” he asks, and immediately knows that he’s done something incorrect when the frown deepens.  
“I’m not showing you my fucking milk. You said you needed milk. So I have milk now,” Nigel explains, his peculiar accent more pronounced, and it draws Adam’s attention as he starts to wonder where Nigel’s from.

He noticed it the first time they spoke, of course, but it’s not something that really matters so long as they understand each other. Adam does like it though. Nigel’s words come out curt or partially cut off sometimes, and his speech pattern is succinct when he’s not cursing up a storm or grumbling like a grumpy bear. 

“I bought milk from the store. That’s how I had cereal yesterday, when you came over,” Adam says it like it’s a well-known fact because it is.

“Oh,” and here, Nigel deflates.

There’s no other way to explain it. His chest had been puffed out and his gleaming teeth bared with his success. Now his shoulders sag and the milk follows, bumping against his leg. Adam frowns and feels a surge of remorse in his gut.

“But I’ll run out of milk soon, as I eat a lot of cereal,” he says. “So thank you very much, Nigel. I’ll let you know when I need more!”

One side of the man’s mouth lifts in a smirk, and his chest puffs back out. Adam smiles as he watches his friend nod once and then cut through the trees to return to his tent. For the next several hours, Adam enjoys his breakfast, and then pulls out a heavy book about constellations, flipping to a chapter he’s read several times already and running a finger along the smooth surface of the page. It’s a well-loved book despite its size, a constant companion when he can manage to lug it with him. He’s content to laze around for the rest of the day and enjoy it, perhaps go for a short walk and admire the beauty of nature. He wonders if Nigel would want to join him.

*.*.*.*

And that’s how the two men end up lost.

What had started off as a casual walk ended up turning into an impromptu hike, led by Nigel. Despite stern reminders that it wouldn’t be safe to veer off the trail, Adam follows his friend dutifully, not wanting him to get lost or hurt, and ending up the former himself. Nigel doesn’t seem perturbed, however. His maroon eyes are glittering as they trudge through heavy bushes and dance around rocks and dead leaves. He appears to have a destination in mind despite the lost part of their adventure. 

Adam is nervous and it’s starting to become harder to quash. Logic tells him that the longer they are lost, the worse it will become, but when he urges the man to turn back, Nigel waves a hand.

“Just a bit more, kid,” he says loudly.

“You said that an hour ago. And stop calling me kid,” Adam grouses, and he stops walking.

Nigel doesn’t notice until he’s a few feet ahead, and only then when he manages to trip after a branch on the ground managed to dig into the bottom of his sandals. Adam has a moment where he wants to laugh at the fact that Nigel is hiking in sandals, but honestly he’s growing far too agitated to see much humor in their predicament. He crosses his arms tightly over his chest, grounding himself as the situation grows worse.

“You deserved that,” Adam grumbles.

‘That’ is the fact that Nigel is sprawled on the ground after taking an unexpected journey of flailing limbs and a curse loud enough to cause the birds to take off in fright around them. Like a tree cut down, the large man’s impact is loud and painful, and his hair is once more a wild mess, strands of it caught on twigs and crackling leaves. It’s a process of grunting and groaning as Nigel climbs to his feet.

“Fucking hell, Adam,” he limps towards the cross young man. “You don’t have to be a fucking dick about it.”

“You have no clue where we are going and you are making it _worse_ ,” Adam points a finger up at the man accusingly.

“Hey, now, calm the fuck down,” Nigel throws his hands up in the air, and Adam can tell that he’s getting mad as well.

“I don’t like being lost, Nigel,” Adam holds himself tighter and turns away, back towards the direction that they’d come.

And then it starts to rain. Hard.

“Oh fucking hell,” Nigel yells.

They both take off running in the same direction, until they find a fallen tree whose dirtied roots offer slight shelter. It’s old, probably felled by a storm at some point, and while it doesn’t offer ample coverage from the pouring rain, it’s enough for now.

“Your fault,” Adam repeats with a sputter, devastated by the water soaking his previously warm clothes.

“Fuck. Live a little, why don’t you?” Nigel growls. “It’s just a little rain, Adam.”

“I don’t like being lost and I don’t like rain!”

They’re pushed close together, shoulder to shoulder, hunching down under the open jaws of the earth. Despite his anxiety, and despite the discomfort flowing into Adam, he knows his friend is right. It takes a little while, but he does manage to calm down, rocking back and forth with his arms once again crossed securely over his chest, eyes squeezed shut. It’s the big hand that hesitantly settles on his shoulder that helps him along, and eventually Adam exhales deeply and then side-eyes the equally soaked man.

“You didn’t want to admit that you were lost, did you?” he inquires.

“Uh,” Nigel opens his mouth, constipated frown having made a return, cheeks turning pink with embarrassment despite the man’s attempts to prevent it, and then looks away. “Yeah, okay. You’re right.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that last part,” the young man is smiling now.

Maroon eyes snap towards him and stare in disbelief. The bigger man reminds Adam just then of a wet dog, shaggy and looking ridiculous. It’s hard to stay angry at a dog, and eventually the joke that had left Adam’s mouth sinks in for them both, and they begin to laugh together. The tension between them snaps immediately, and the hand on the young man’s shoulder turns into an arm wrapped around him tightly, a welcome warmth as the rain continues to fall in fat drops around them.

“Next time, we are going to stay on the trail,” Adam murmurs. “And we need to bring supplies, Nigel. Hiking is an endeavor best handled when prepared.”

“No shit,” the man snickers and leans closer, and Adam suddenly finds his friend’s nose snuffling in his hair.

Not a bear. A dog, for sure.

“Are you smelling me?” the young man asks.

His voice is full of absolute confusion once he realizes that Nigel is indeed doing just that, nose pressed against his temple after rubbing along his wet hair. 

“You smell like the rain,” is the quiet answer.

“I’m not certain that that is a good thing.”

Or something that warrants attention, Adam doesn’t say. He’s confused but he doesn’t push Nigel away. He’s warm now, held close and tight, out of the rain and only slightly miserable now (who knows how many bugs could be crawling on them this very second.) Adam can’t say the proximity is unwanted; his friend smells fairly nice as well, and he has to amend his previous words inwardly, as the rain does have a nice scent. Subtle with a touch of chemicals, pleasing now that they aren’t being assaulted by the downpour, earthy thanks to their makeshift shelter.

Adam isn’t quite sure about anything in that moment. He’s physically uncomfortable and fretting about the circumstance, of course. However, and this is stronger and more important than all of it, he’s also content.

Happy, even.

*.*.*.*

They return to Adam’s campsite when the rain lets up into a light shower and then stops altogether as they walk. It takes them awhile, since they honestly are lost. The young man leads them back the way they came and eventually finds the trail for them both, and Nigel follows along without complaint other than to mourn for his soggy pack of cigarettes. When they break out of the woods and hit smooth dirt, Adam’s anxiety fades the rest of the way, and they end their unplanned hike by sitting around a growing fire, feet propped close to the warmth of the pit as they share a bottle of Adam’s orange soda.

“My feet fucking hurt,” the man grunts. “Fucking shit. My entire body feels like it got trampled by a herd of elephants.”

“You would be dead if that were the case,” Adam remarks lightly.

“Yeah, that’s a thing. Ugh.”

Nigel eases his feet out of his sandals and tosses the offending things away into a bush. It’s well past dinner time, and the sky is still grey. Adam wants to change and curl up in his tent and go to sleep early. The day had turned into quite an adventure, and he’s proud of himself -and Nigel- for getting through it. It could have been much worse, the young man reflects. They could have not found the trail, could have been stuck stumbling through the dark until someone found them or they ended up somewhere entirely else, emerging from the woods far from the campground. As it is, though, they’re both safe and warm, and there’s a pack of marshmallows waiting to be roasted over the dancing blaze.

“See this baby?” Nigel points proudly to his perfectly golden brown marshmallow. “ _This_ is how it’s done. Pay no mind to the stereotype of fucking burnt ‘mallows. I’m the fucking master of this shit.”

“As far as I know, there’s no correct way to roast a marshmallow,” Adam says. 

Nigel waves his prize in the air dismissively, and as a result, nearly loses his ‘perfect’ marshmallow. Their chairs are closer this time, though, and Adam leans over and catches it in the palm of his hand, not even considering the consequences until it’s too late. He yelps at the hot, sticky mess that now adorns his hand, eyes watering and teeth bared in a wince, and he’s very nearly ready to fling it onto the ground. Long fingers grasp his own, however, holding him still and-

“Nigel, that’s not exactly sanitary,” Adam hears himself speak but he’s suddenly distracted by the sight of his friend eating the marshmallow out of his hand -yes, like a dog.

The man shrugs, mouth full of melted stickiness, eyes glittering with mirth. Adam finds himself giggling before he can stop it -the sight is far too bizarre and furthermore amusing, and he covers his mouth with his free hand, shoulders shaking slightly. It turns into a loud laugh, head tilting back, clutching his belly as he quite literally guffaws at the situation. It’s been so very long since he’s had any reason to be overcome with amusement of any kind. Of course he finds humor in the jokes from his favorite TV show _Inside the Actor’s Studio_ , and sometimes he can’t help but laugh at rather unorthodox situations. This is different, though.

“There, all fucking better,” Nigel smirks at Adam.

“You just _licked_ my hand!” more giggles and now Adam’s eyes feel damp with tears of humor.

“Well shit, I don’t want my perfection to go to waste, man!” 

They’re laughing together again. The sun has set, and it’s so dark around them that it’s impossible to see passed the range of the firelight. Adam can’t even be bothered to feel weird about the oddness that follows the fact that his new friend had eaten a marshmallow out of his hand, he’s far too happy to let anything burst the bubble of joy growing in his chest, causing his heart to feel like it’s leaping into his throat. He smiles at Nigel and marvels at how the man has turned out to be quite different than his gruffness had initially implied.

His scruffy appearance, coupled with the tattoo on his neck, and the continuous presence of a ciggie at the corner of his lips, honestly gives the man the appearance of a rugged, stoic individual with no time for jokes or fuck ups or camping at all. The fact that he’s none of that, much less graceful -Adam is pretty sure Nigel trips more times than anyone he’s ever known-, is a comfort to the young man. He’s certain that Nigel’s odd quirks are part of the reason he hasn’t managed to drive him off like he generally does with most people, even if he does so unintentionally.

“Your turn,” Nigel passes the roasting stick over after releasing Adam’s now damp hand. “Show me how it’s fucking done, aye?”

“I already told you there’s no correct way to roast a marshmallow,” the young man shakes his head and eases one of the aforementioned treats onto a prong, and then holds it above the reaching fingers of flame. “And anyway, I prefer mine slightly burnt.”

To demonstrate, he blows air on the blackened outer layer of his marshmallow, and then eats the entire thing in one satisfying chomp. There’s two prongs on the end of the metal roasting stick, one for each of them, and the table between them has an opened bottle of orange soda for Adam, and a can of beer for Nigel. The other man’s own campsite is dark and not visible from here, seemingly abandoned the more time its owner spends at Adam’s side.

Adam likes having Nigel over, though. When he planned this trip, he had done so with the intention to look at the stars alone, read, and just enjoy the quiet solitude of nature, not even thinking at the time that he would meet anyone or make a friend. It’s an unexpected circumstance that Adam is warming up to with surprising gusto, and what had once been the ingrained need to assist a stranger in need had evolved into his own personal need for connection. 

“I like you,” Adam says aloud, honest as always.

“Uhm. Thanks, ki- Adam,” Nigel looks away and appears to be in pain for some reason.

“Was that the wrong thing to say?” 

“What? Fuck no, it’s cool,” the other man faces him again and wipes his mouth with the back of one hand. “I like you too, darling.”

At least this time the endearment is suitable to the situation. Well, mostly. Adam smiles over at his friend before he turns his eyes to the sky. The clouds are gone and the stars flickering down at them are plenty, a blanket of vastness spread as far as the eye can see. Nigel joins him, and together they enjoy the beauty of the constellations that the older man probably doesn’t remember the names of.

Adam doesn’t care. He’s just happy to have a friend there to enjoy it all with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go, I think. WHO KNOWS, THOUGH. Maybe more. Having way too much fun with this, to be honest <3


	4. Goddamn Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam is seriously beginning to question Nigel's choice to go camping. Nigel just wants to relax, but mother nature hates him, as usual!
> 
> The two men bond despite their differences -and despite Nigel's ability to get lost at any time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta read~

“Nigel, that’s not how you do it,” Adam returns from his short walk to the water spout down the dirt road, having filled up a jug to make macaroni and cheese for their lunch.

“I feel like we’ve had this fucking conversation before,” the man grumbles from where he’s knelt.

“We have,” Adam says blankly.

Nigel drops the poles on the ground, giving up on connecting them. He opts to light a ciggie and inhale thankfully, stress bleeding out with the smoke he exhales. Adam raises one brow, taking in the sight of the older man kneeling there amongst what used to be his tent -they’d both decided they might as well share a campsite now to avoid trampling the underbrush or potentially poking out an eye on a wayward branch. Well, it had been Nigel’s idea, but Adam doesn’t mind.

“I’ve got this,” Nigel grumbles. “Just sit back and relax, darling.”

“I’m going to make lunch, and then we can both relax,” the young man smiles and then turns away to start up his Coleman stove.

He pours water into the pot already snug on the burner, and then sets the jug aside for later usage, the sizeable container still half full of liquid. He’s humming quietly to himself, pouring the pasta into the bubbling water, when the air is filled with a loud _riiiiiiiip_ sound. Adam jumps in shock and nearly drops the rest of the macaroni.

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Fucking piece of _SHIT_!” Nigel’s voice shouts across the campsite, maybe even the entire campground, loud as it is.

“Nigel, what have you done?” Adam is afraid to ask but he asks anyway, and he turns the burner on low before turning around to face his friend.

Nigel has managed to connect the poles, true. He’d also somehow managed to rip a giant hole in the thin fabric of his tent. Adam is trying to figure out how the man had pulled that off, walking closer and kneeling next to Nigel to poke at the rended remains. 

“I fucked up,” Nigel says blankly. “You have any tape, Adam?”

“Of course I do,” the matter-of-fact voice earns a scoff from Nigel. “I’ll get it. I’ll also put the rest of the tent together. Go stir the pasta, please.”

It’s beautiful out today, at least. The grey clouds have floated away and the bright blue sky beams down at them peacefully. It’s not overly hot or chilly, either, instead the temperature hovers in the middle, and it makes for a pleasant day. Adam digs around in his supplies, and while he knows that he definitely does have tape, he’s not certain _where_ he put it. 

“I _do_ have some,” he announces over his shoulder.

Nigel is stirring the pasta slowly when Adam huffs and gives up for now. It’s early, and he can find the tape later before it gets dark. Instead, he proceeds to set up his friend’s tent, and then faces Nigel, beaming at the older man.

“Fucking sweet. Except for the giant hole in the side,” the man comments, and then winces.

“We’ll fix it,” Adam promises.

They sit down for lunch afterwards, chewing the cheesy macaroni and sharing another bottle of Adam’s orange soda. The conversation is sparse, the younger man preferring to eat in silence and the other learning rather quickly that his tendency to talk with his mouth full didn’t exactly make a great impression. As he chews, Adam frowns slightly. He hasn’t had many friends, not any that have lasted longer than a few months, especially with his antisocial tendencies. Harlan is an exception, and he still talks to his ex-girlfriend Beth once in while, perusing her letters while sitting in the park. Since moving to LA, however, his only companions have been his computers, his books, and occasionally the delivery man, who brought his groceries to his front door once every two weeks. It’s not exactly something that he let’s bother him, but sitting here, four days into his trip, he suddenly realizes that he will have to say goodbye to Nigel soon.

It’s not a pleasant thought.

“You okay, kid?” as if he could hear Adam’s thought, the man pipes up at that second.

“I am okay, yes. Just thinking,” Adam sets his bowl on the table and slouches in his chair.

“You do that a lot,” Nigel comments with a smirk.

“You don’t do it enough.”

It comes out the way everything does, in a tone of voice that resembles a person reading a passage from a text book. Adam doesn’t think before he says it, ironically enough. Nigel’s mouth drops open, and he barely manages to rescue his cigarette from falling onto the ground. His lips are turned down in a frown, and his nose twitches once, twice in a little snarl.

And then the man throws his head back and laughs long and loud.

“Fucking hell, Adam, telling me just how it fucking well is, huh?” he snickers around the ciggie stuck at the corner of his lips. “Fucking right I don’t do it enough. But hey, if I _did_ , I wouldn’t be here in the first fucking place.”

“Then we wouldn’t have met,” the young man states, and then he blinks, falling silent for a few minutes. “Nigel, why did you decide to go camping if you don’t know how to set up a tent?”

“Awh shit,” the man scrubs a hand through his hair and takes a drag off of his ciggie, exhaling the smoke away from Adam. “I just wanted to get away from the city and get drunk. Sing to the moon, you know?”

“Oh,” Adam peers at the other as the man waves one of his hands in the air to apparently demonstrate serenading the moon, or in this case the sun, whose rays peek down at them between the branches of the trees boxing them in.

“And you came to see the fucking stars,” Nigel continues. “You know, we both came here for the same fucking reason in the end. Pretty fucking neat, if you ask me.”

Neat isn’t the word Adam would use to describe it. To him, it’s not sufficient enough in light of their burgeoning friendship. He may not be the best at gaining and maintaining social ties, but Adam _does_ give his all when it comes to it, despite what others may think. It’s frustrating not being able to properly convey it, that anyone giving him the time of day fills him up with so much joy he can’t keep his mouth shut. No, neat isn’t good enough, as far as Adam is concerned.

“I’m really happy that we met, Nigel,” he states. “You’re not like other people.”

“Awh, thanks, darling,” the constipated expression makes a return, although this time it appears to be less pained than usual. “I’m fucking happy too. You’re fuckin cu- er, yeah. Good times for sure.”

“Why do you do that?” Adam asks, and then regrets it immediately, as he hadn’t really wanted to give voice to the question.

“Do what? What the fuck am I doing?”

“Your face,” Adam tries to explain. “Sometimes when I say something, you look constipated.”

“I fucking what?”

“You look con-”

“No, no, I fucking heard you, Adam, jeez.”

Nigel stands and sets his bowl next to Adam’s on the table, and then he discards his cigarette butt in the firepit. His hand makes another pass through his hair, and then he starts to snicker. He’s wearing a heavy black hoodie and baggy sports pants today, and a pair of shiny black boots instead of his socks and sandals combination. He’d also shaved at some point last night, and now his face is smooth and he looks younger than he did beforehand.

“You’re not like other people either, Adam,” he finally says, and then amends; “That’s a good thing. You don’t play any head games. You just say what you mean and mean what you say. It’s fucking refreshing.”

“I’m just me,” Adam gets to his feet as well and stands by his friend.

“Well, just you is fucking just fine, darling.”

The man wraps an arm around Adam’s shoulder and pulls him close briefly, and the young man gets a noseful of cigarette smoke and something earthier beneath, as well as a nice whiff of Nigel’s aftershave. It’s not too strong, and it reminds Adam of the ocean.

*.*.*.*

They go for a walk, avoiding the hiking trails and instead wandering along the dirt road that loops around the campground. It’s an adventure that they’re both equipped for, thankfully, and the chances of them getting lost are slim to nil -Adam hopes, anyway. He’s starting to think that Nigel is capable of getting lost no matter the circumstances, though he wouldn’t say that out loud. They’re walking side by side, shoulders brushing now and then, and together they take in the scenery, passing various campsites and the families within, or here and there solo individuals enjoying the solitude gratefully.

“That guy looked like you,” Adam comments. “He was dressed rather strangely for a camping trip, though.”

“Oh hell no. Ain’t no one as handsome as me, darling,” Nigel flexes obnoxiously, and Adam can’t help but burst into laughter.

“You’re silly, Nigel.”

Continuing onwards, they eventually make it to the squat brick building where they had both registered at the start of their trip. There’s a vending machine outside the entrance, and Nigel feeds it a few dollar bills and presses a few buttons. With a rumble and a thump, the machine deposits a bottle of orange soda into his waiting hand.

“I could have brought one of those,” Adam accepts it nonetheless, twists the cap off, and takes a long sip.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” a customary hand wave, and then Nigel retrieves his own bottle of soda, this time Coca Cola, which he practically demolishes with one long gulp. “Ahhhh, good ol’ Cola.”

“It tastes like soap. There’s nothing good about it.”

Nigel polishes off the bottle in record time, and then shrugs. He doesn’t disagree with Adam’s words, though there is an amused smirk on his face. He tosses the bottle, and then they circle around the building and begin the journey back to the campsite, the sun high in the sky in the late afternoon, the air around them heavy with warmth and now a bit of humidity. They’re about halfway there when Nigel does a double-take, eyes wide.

“You know, I just saw someone that looked like _you_ , Adam,” he says. “Guess we both have dooplygangs or whatever they’re called.”

“Doppelgangers, and it’s not as uncommon as most people think,” the young man starts, and then he’s launching into a complex theory about the aforementioned doppelgangers, eyes bright and involved with his words. 

Nigel listens attentively, however he’s lost at the first word that sounds like it’s in a foreign language. Soon, their feet pattering along the dirt road, the topic devolves into the sciences of famous names and how incorrect some of them are, with Adam offering various examples and ticking them off on his slender fingers. He’s still talking when they return to their campsite, when he gets the fire going, and even when they sit down to relax after their long walk. Nigel has enough time to smoke the rest of his pack of cigarettes before the younger man abruptly cuts himself off.

“I’m sorry,” he says loudly. “Sometimes I don’t realize how much I’m talking. You could have told me to be quiet.”

“The fuck would I do that for?” Nigel tosses a cigarette butt into the pit. “Look, I might have no fucking clue what you’re talking about, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like listening to you.”

“If you don’t have any clue, you should have told me,” a frown accompanies the statement. “Then I wouldn’t have had to waste our time.”

“Darling, you didn’t waste anything.”

Adam isn’t certain, though. He thinks Nigel is maybe just saying that to comfort him, but it’s hard to tell. He looks content, his angry features less angry and more resembling vague annoyance; Adam can’t tell, and he wants to ask. He settles for looking down at his lap and fidgeting in his chair instead, fingers tapping a pattern on his knee. Overhead, a bird squawks loudly, and then-

“YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT,” Nigel is out of his chair and tearing off his hoodie, throwing it violently into nearby bush. 

The volume of his voice shocks Adam into standing, and his limbs grow stiff with anxiety at the amount of anger displayed by his friend. He learns quickly that the bird had defecated on poor Nigel, and that lessens the anxiety a bit because now he’s trying not to laugh -again- at the other’s poor luck. Naturally, he doesn’t succeed.

“Adam,” Nigel warns. “Don’t you dare.”

“I’m sorry,” the young man begins to giggle so hard that he hiccups quite suddenly. “Oh no.”

He covers his mouth, shoulders shaking, and turns away from his friend as if that will help him. Seconds later he’s laughing so hard he’s doubled over.

“For fuck’s sake,” Nigel is heard cursing from farther away.

Adam turns and finds the man rescuing his hoodie and displaying the large white stain on the sleeve. His sharp features are turned into a frown, but when he catches Adam’s eye, he begins to chuckle. 

“Here,” Adam offers around a few more giggles. “I can get the stain out. Just get me some more water, please.”

“Yeah, sure fucking thing. Be back pronto.”

Together, they wash the garment, Adam scrubbing at it with a hard sponge and Nigel ducking it into the water. In the end, the offending mess is taken care of and the hoodie is strung up on a branch so that the sleeve can dry. The older man pats his pockets down for his pack of cigarettes, and then curses loudly.

“Guess I gotta head to the store,” he mumbles. “You said you had a map?”

“Oh yes,” Adam ushers his friend over to his car and grabs it from the passenger seat where he’d left it. “Here you go.”

“Thanks, darling. I’ll be back,” and with a salute, Nigel leaves.

Seconds later Adam hears the man’s van rumbling to life and then crackling over the dirt road. The campsite is incredibly quiet following the departure of his friend, and Adam flops down onto his chair with a tiny sigh. He kicks his feet against the ground for a little while, twiddles his fingers, stands again, and then crawls into his tent after unzipping it. His book is there, and he curls up on his sleeping bag to read, marvelling inwardly at how lost he felt even now without Nigel’s presence.

Adam isn’t sure how he feels about that.

*.*.*.*

“Hey, Adam, you here?” a voice wakes Adam, who hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

He closes his book and climbs out of the tent, shivering slightly. He’d left the flap open, had been enjoying the breeze teasing against his face as he read. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but now it’s late, and Nigel is looking at him strangely.

“Uhm,” the man murmurs, and his hand reaches out, stops, and then returns to his side. “Sorry, didn’t mean to take so fucking long.”

“Did you get lost?” Adam asks. “Nigel, I gave you a map.”

“I know you gave me a fucking map. It uh… it blew away,” Nigel shakes a ciggie out of his fresh pack and plants it between his lips. “Out the window. I didn’t fucking mean to lose it.”

“That’s fine,” Adam doesn’t think it’s fine, not really.

He’s grumpy. Adam generally avoids naps because of this very reason, however Nigel isn’t to blame for his bad mood, so he huffs out a breath and stumbles away from his friend. 

“The fuck are you going?” Nigel demands from behind him.

“To urinate, Nigel,” Adam deadpans.

He hears the other make a fish out of water sound -he doesn’t turn back, though, not until he’s done his business on a tree and then zipped his pants up, returning to frown at Nigel.

“It’s getting dark,” he says. “You were gone for a long time, Nigel.”

“How many hours is a long time?”

The other is smiling cheekily, although it fades fast. Nigel is wearing a white undershirt, and his muscular arms veritably bulge in comparison to Adam’s smaller, slender stature; the other is a relatively buff man, and he’s several inches taller, tattoo’d, and honestly rather terrifying with his seemingly permanent scowl and the constant presence of his cigarette. The young man hadn’t let himself think too long about the odds of two incredibly different people like them meeting, much less getting along, but now he is, and he wonders if they had met elsewhere if they would have become friends; or if Nigel would be the type of man to ridicule him like most people have and would continue to do. 

“Almost three,” he answers icily. 

He feels bad. He’s not mad at Nigel, not at all. He’s just far away from home and his routine is nonexistent. He shakes his head and grabs the jug of water to dump the dirty liquid in a bush, and then he leaves the campsite to head over to the spout. The water splashes into the container, filling it slowly after he turns the handle with a squeak, and on the walk back, he takes a deep breath and lets it out.

Nigel stands immediately from his seat in Adam’s chair, mouth open to speak. 

“Don’t,” Adam holds up a hand. “Just let me talk.”

“Okay, darling. I’m all ears.”

Over the next several minutes, Adam explains his difficulties with new situations and relationships, describing a few cringe-worthy experiences with people that hadn’t been quite as patient as Nigel. They both sit down as he talks, and his friend leans forward, listening as attentively as he had earlier. And as Adam explains why he is the way he is, he feels his chest become lighter, anxiety bleeding out and the grumpiness that had made him feel heavy drifting away with the words leaving his mouth. There’s a few seconds where Nigel looks like he wants to reach out again, and Adam doesn’t understand the motion until finally, with a scowl, the older man sets his hand on Adam’s knee, on top of the young man’s own.

“Look, Adam,” he starts. “I don’t really fucking care what other people think. You’re honest and you’re fucking smart. And I’m a fucking disaster waiting to happen at any second, not to mention I’m quite honestly a very bad man.”

“You’re not bad to me,” Adam says. 

“And you’re not weird to me,” Nigel counters. “I like you, you like me, that’s all that matters, darling.”

Adam supposes that’s as simple as it needs to be, even if there is a lingering finger of doubt poking at his gut. 

He brushes it aside and instead he gets up to make dinner, this time taking out the hot dogs to thaw a little. The two men share a comfortable silence, and that night they take turns roasting hot dogs over the fire. Nigel doesn’t burn any of his too badly, and they eat over the paper plates the man had offered from his own supplies. With a lot of coaxing, Adam eventually takes a sip of his friend’s can of beer, the man having miraculously not run out of the beverage yet. It’s gross, and he spits it out with a sound of disgust that has his friend snickering in delight. 

Another day passes, another escapade had in the trip Adam is more than happy he had gone on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied, there's gonna be more! LOL! ♥
> 
> And yes, there was a cameo from Will and Hanni -snorts- Poorly rendered, but I HAD to sneak it in ♥♥♥


	5. Not a Scowl in Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys go for a swim. Later, they both face a new challenge -together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta read!

Adam stares down at the clear, rippling water, bright blue and enticing him in the afternoon heat. Nigel’s already soaked, having jumped in the deep end of the pool almost immediately after stripping out of his shirt and pants. 

“I’ll get in at the other end,” Adam says quietly.

He doesn’t want to tell Nigel that he doesn’t know how to swim. He knows it’s something to be embarrassed about, after all, and even if he also knows instinctively that his friend won’t make fun of him, he still keeps his mouth shut stubbornly. He walks along the edge of the pool towards the shallow end, gripping the steel railing of the four-step ladder and slowly lowering himself into the chilly water.

“Whoo! Get wet for me, baby!” Nigel crows excitedly.

He’s loud, and a few people look over at the older man disapprovingly. There’s a few young kids, but thankfully they aren’t old enough to make sense of the rowdy guy wading the water at the deep end. 

“Please keep it down,” the young man says, shivering as he drops into the water.

It’s as high as his knees here, nothing to panic about, and he takes a few unsteady steps towards the separating line at the center of the pool, a length of rope fed through sphere-shaped buoys. The entire place is fenced in, with unforgiving concrete lining the ledges around the water. There are a few patio lounge chairs dotted around, as well as one or two umbrellas to offer shade to the less sun-loving folk. Additionally, there are long benches pressed against the inside of the fence, and it’s here that they have left their towels and clothes, Adam’s folded neatly and Nigel’s tossed uncaringly on ground close by.

“This is great,” Nigel says, swimming closer, body fit and gliding through the water smoothly. “I mean I’d prefer a beach with white sand and ocean water far as the eye can see, but ah well.”

“That would be nice,” Adam agrees. “I like the ocean. It smells very nice.”

“I guess that’s another plus, though I can’t say I’ve ever noticed it,” Nigel takes a breath and sinks underwater, and then pops up on Adam’s side of the separating line, standing and rising out of the water next to his shorter friend.

“How could you not notice it?” Adam is confused, because the smell isn’t exactly subtle at a beach, much less the ocean, where the scent of brine is strong.

“Well usually I’d be surfing or checking out the amazing rack of ti- erm, I mean I’d be distracted,” Nigel’s hands dropped from where they had been squeezing at the air.

Adam tilts his head, and then realizes there’s a mother nearby glaring at Nigel as if he were Satan himself. The young man looks away quickly and covers his mouth, blocking the giggle before it can manifest into a clear laugh. For his part, Nigel looks slightly mollified, however he merely moves closer to Adam, waggling his fingers to beckon him closer.

“Tough crowd,” he whispers, and then, conspiratorially; “She’s just jealous, you know. Fucking flatter than a slab of wood.”

“Nigel!” Adam smacks his friend’s arm impulsively, and the force behind the hit is more than either had been expecting.

Nigel tils to the side, tries to catch his footing and fails, and then splashes into the water with a gasp. He comes up for air and Adam grimaces, ready to apologize. 

His mouth is opened just in time to catch a splash of water thrown his way by a laughing Nigel.

“Ugh, Nigel that’s _rude_!” he admonishes loudly.

“Hey, you pushed me first, darling!”

The older man is grinning, sharp ends of his teeth gleaming, maroon eyes narrowed and glittering with mirth. Another splash is sent Adam’s way, but Adam is prepared this time, turning away to shield himself, sputtering at the taste of chlorine in his mouth from the first attack. His friend’s good humor is too contagious to linger on the irrational anger that had flooded him at being splashed, as well as the scandalous topic that Nigel had chosen to converse about. No, instead of frowning, Adam _charges_!

“Hey, what are you- _oof_ ,” Nigel is barreled over, falling backwards into the water, Adam following his descent with an evil little smirk.

The impromptu water war is engaged in the shallow end, and it remains there. Adam finds himself full of joy, almost to the point where he can’t stop smiling even though his cheeks hurt a lot. Without needling him, Nigel seems to have picked up on his hesitance to enter the deep end, and the other remains in reach, other than the few times he dives under the separating line to cheat. By the time each of them begins to lose steam, the pool has emptied, the only person remaining being a man with dark curly hair lounging under an umbrella, eyes protected by a flashy pair of shades.

“Cheater!” Adam cries out, and he snorts with laughter when he proceeds to slip a second later, careening into the water with a squeak of surprise.

“Bullshit!”

Nigel snickers from his side of the line. He’s wading the water farther and farther out, and then he wriggles about until he’s floating on his back. Adam gains his feet and frowns out at his friend as the man slowly fades away from his reach. He wants to throw caution to the wind and dive out there, slap water onto the other’s serene features as Nigel looks up at the sky, but then he’s caught up in the tiny smile at the corner of the older man’s lips.

Nigel looks happy -not a scowl in sight.

“It’s really fucking nice out here,” the man says. “Camping I mean. Being out here.”

“Better than the city, for the most part,” Adam agrees.

The sun shining down on them warms them and makes them both sleepy, and after a few more minutes of his languid floating, Nigel suddenly dives under the water, disappearing from Adam’s sight only to appear right in front of him where the young man is lingering at the center.

“Come here,” large hands are held out. “I won’t let you go.”

Adam looks into Nigel’s eyes fleetingly, and then he reaches out tentatively, slender fingers of one hand coming to rest against the palm of one of Nigel’s own. The longer digits close over his, grip Adam tightly, and then the man helps him under the damp rope and into the deep end, clasping his other hand as well and then wading backwards. Together, they make it out to the deepest part and Nigel smiles brightly.

“See? Not so bad out here,” he murmurs gently.

“ _Don’t_ let me go, Nigel!”

“Shh, I won’t, darling, you’re safe.”

He is safe, Adam realizes. It’s terrifying, being unable to feel the solid ground beneath his feet. He can’t even clearly see the bottom of the pool, the light refracting across the surface and everything beneath distorted in the small ripples that spread around them. Nigel is holding both of his hands firmly, and his face is softened into an expression Adam cannot decipher.

“You okay?” Nigel asks, and his voice is rough.

There’s a comforting quality to it as well, one that Adam grasps onto just as surely as he does the man’s bigger hands. His breath hitches briefly, and then he pulls them closer together, lingering almost against Nigel’s chest and glancing up at him with a shy smile.

“I’m okay,” he says. “This is nice, Nigel. Thank you for not letting go.”

“Of course, sweetie.”

Adam opens his mouth at the new endearment, but finds himself suddenly speechless. It’s not the word that gives him pause, not at all -the way the man says it, maroon eyes bright with what Adam _thinks_ is affection, has his heart doing strange things. Adam doesn’t have words for the feeling flooding into his bloodstream, other than the generic description of butterflies fluttering around his insides. He furrows his brow in contemplation, going silent.

“Hey, did I say something wrong?” the affection is replaced with concern, sincere and caring.

“No,” the younger man tightens his grip on his friend’s hands and then shuts his eyes. “Can we get out now? I want to go back to the campsite.”

“Yeah, of course. You gonna show me some fucking stars tonight?”

“Yes. That sounds nice.”

They wade towards one of the ladders, and Nigel waits until Adam is securely out of the pool and planted on firm concrete. Together, they retrieve their clothes and shoes, and make the trip back to their joint campsite. There’s a silence between them that is neither comfortable or the opposite, merely there and heavy with words unspoken.

*.*.*.*

The tape job on Nigel’s tent -Adam had finally found the roll hidden beneath the toilet paper, lodged in a corner of the crate- is admittedly shoddy. The little structure looks almost sad, leaning towards Adam’s more steady one as the older man shuffles around inside to change out of his swim trunks. The campsite feels like a second home at this point, and Adam can barely accept that he’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow, and that Nigel and he will be separating ways. It’s hard to keep that out of his thoughts when first and foremost, Adam is indeed a thinker. It’s what he does, and not for the first time, he wishes it were different, that he could enjoy himself in the present.

Unfortunately, along with being a thinker, Adam is a planner as well. Nigel hadn’t been apart of his plans at all, but he’s there now, in deep and more than welcome at this point.

“Hotdogs or macaroni tonight?” Nigel asks as he struggles out of his tent, not tripping for once, which must be a record.

“Both,” Adam claims, feeling adventurous -a rare thing, because being adventurous meant going outside of the proverbial lines of his comfort. 

He’s already far beyond them at this point at any rate, and he marvels at that as he ducks into his own tent to change as well. Just then, the feelings slinging around his brain and his guts and his heart make sense to him with a click like most things do, allowing him to reach a point of understanding in a great leap of logic most couldn’t follow. As Nigel roasts some hotdogs and Adam returns outside to start up the stove, he considers his new friend. He’s not stupid, despite the nasty people who would tell him otherwise, and while he may have a few more disadvantages to deal with in life, Adam knows himself and he knows what he needs, and more importantly, what he wants.

“Do you like me, Nigel?” he asks the question after he’s set his fork down, bowl of macaroni and cheese (and sliced pieces of hot dogs) sitting in his lap.

“Of course I fucking do,” Nigel’s hand is frozen in place halfway to his mouth. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I?”

“I like you a lot,” the young man pushes through the wall of anxiety that rises suddenly. “I’m going to be very sad when I go back to the city.”

Nigel sets his bowl down in his lap as well, kicks his feet out, and drops the uneaten forkful of food. There’s a long moment of silence as they both avoid looking at each other, and it’s bordering on awkward when the other clears his throat loudly.

“Me too, Adam. I’m going to be very fucking sad.”

Sighing, Adam sets his food aside. His appetite is gone, and now he just wants to curl up and hide his head under his pillow. Pushing the thoughts and feelings aside are not going to cut it this time, and wordlessly, he gets up and unzips his tent, crawls in, and then tangles himself up in his sleeping bag. The flap waves gently in the subtle breeze, remaining open.

“Hey,” the familiar, gruff voices sounds outside the tent. “Shit, Adam, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Adam buries his face in his pillow briefly, and then mumbles: “You didn’t upset me. Please come in here.”

“Awh shit, you sure?”

“Yes. Now.”

There’s a rustling sound, and then the tent flap is pulled back. The older man crawls in with a grunt, drags himself alongside Adam, and lays on the hard ground facing his friend, head pillowed in one hand as he leans his elbow against the hard surface beneath him. His hair is mussed from the static in the tent, and Adam grins as he remembers the sight of the man with twigs tangled up in the soft-looking locks. His chest is taut with emotion he cannot even begin to label.

“Well hi there. You come here often?” Nigel smirks at his cheeky greeting.

“We’re camping, so yes,” Adam also smirks to let his friend know he’s kidding.

A soft laugh, and then a hum, Nigel running his free hand through his own hair and smoothing the mass over his head and behind his ears. Maroon eyes half close, and the air between them becomes heavy with something that they are both aware of, just uncertain how to approach. Adam wants to be honest, wants to tell Nigel that he likes him more than a silly label could convey, wants so many things that he feels overwhelmed just then as they lay together in his tent. The last several days have been some of the best in his life, and he can admit that readily and without shame.

“Can you please hold me?” he asks quietly.

Silence.

It stretches, and the younger man doesn’t realize he’s closed his eyes to block out the inevitable rejection until he’s jumping in shock at the sensation of rough fingertips brushing along his cheek. Even then he doesn’t want to open them, doesn’t want to face anything anymore, and that’s when Nigel’s strong arms enfold Adam in a tight embrace, pulling him partially out of his sleeping bag and resting a large hand at the back of his head to guide his face into the crook his neck. He still smells like the ocean.

“Don’t let go,” Adam whispers.

“I sure as shit won’t be letting go anytime soon, darling, trust me.”

The words are mumbled into his hair, stirring the dark curls. Finally, slowly, Adam opens his eyes and looks at the man’s neck first, gradually dragging his gaze along a strong jawline, full lips, sharp cheekbones, and lastly, familiar maroon eyes. It’s the longest he’s managed to maintain eye contact, and every second has his heart beating harder, faster, until it feels like it’s climbing into his throat.

“Thank you.”

Adam wraps his own arms around Nigel, tentatively at first, and then quickly, pulling the other even closer, until there’s barely any space left between them. He buries his nose into his friend’s shoulder and lets out a long, relieved sigh. Hours pass, each of them breathing against the other gently, until they are in tandem, and eventually they both drift off into an unplanned nap.

*.*.*.*

Adam opens his eyes to an amazing sight.

Nigel is still wrapped around him, face tilted downwards and features relaxed in repose, and his nose is pressed alongside Adam’s own in an impromptu eskimo kiss. This close, it’s easier to see the laugh lines around the man’s eyes, and the scar on the bridge of his nose, the deep indent bisecting the tissue there but not diminishing his appearance in any unappealing way. It gives him character, and despite not knowing the story behind it, Adam likes it.

Adam likes Nigel in general.

He’s loathe to wake his sleeping friend, and he might have closed his eyes and attempted to return to sleep at any other time. However, his bladder makes its presence known once more with a sharp sting, and Adam relents. He shifts slightly, grabbing Nigel’s bicep and pushing at it gently to dislodge his grip. Instantly, the man snaps awake, eyes wide and confused for a few seconds, before recognition fills the maroon depths, followed by a cheeky smile.

“Hi there, darling,” he says sleepily.

“Hi Nigel. I have to pee, so please let go of me,” Adam squirms to demonstrate his point.

A hearty laugh fills the tent, and he’s released. It’s dark when Adam stumbles out, and there are crickets singing in the bushes. He wanders to his customary tree and relieves himself, and then returns to stoke the fire into life. Nigel’s head pokes out of the tent.

“You coming back?” he questions.

“I’m going to eat first.”

It’s the marshmallows that Adam reaches for with a private smile. His body is relaxed and laden with an unnameable emotion that feels somehow soft and weighty at the same time. It’s not unpleasant, and it accompanies him well into the night, as they roast marshmallows and converse about various topics. Finally, Adam heads over to the telescope and gestures for Nigel to follow, and together they look at the stars. All of his life, they have been a focal point and a comfort to Adam, and they remained as such through the years, a presence that he could always count on. Now, the stars are the cause of something more amazing than the fascination that Adam could hold for any constellation.

Because of the stars, he had met Nigel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes that was another cameo from Will. He wouldn't let me NOT sneak him in again.
> 
> One more chapter to go! ♥


	6. Marshmallow Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam and Nigel spend their last day together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for now! I'm going to continue to write for this 'verse however! This story is my contribution to the AMAZING Spacedogs appreciation week, and WOW, what a week it has been~
> 
> You've all made me smile so damn much these last few days. I am so incredibly happy to have written and shared something for you to enjoy. Your comments have made me giggle and squee and smile big, and I just want to thank you all so so very fucking much.
> 
> Bless you all, and thank you for joining me on this awkward but lovable trip! ♥♥

The sun is already beating down hotly when Adam wakes up. He can see the rays of light through the thin fabric of the tent and hear the chirping of morning birds in the trees. His second glance is for the man next to him, tangled hopelessly in his own army-green sleeping bag, half sprawled on Adam with his hand shoved under the younger man’s pillow, and his considerable weight feels uncomfortably heavy and stifling.

“Nigel,” Adam whispers -there’s no response.

Other than a grunting snore, a snuffle that Adam admits is incredibly adorable, even for a man as scruffy as Nigel, his friend remains deeply asleep with his limbs grasping onto Adam like a hairy octopus. He’d somehow lost his shirt during the night, and his chest tickles against the younger man’s arm where it’s nearly crushed between them.

“Nigel, wake up,” Adam tries again.

This time, Nigel grunts louder, and then proceeds to roll over onto his back, snoring loudly and not stopping. He truly does sound like a bear now, and it’s Adam’s giggling that finally wakes the bigger man, snores cutting off with a last growl, maroon eyes snapping open and filled with confusion briefly.

“Hi,” Adam greets the man with pink cheeks and a silly grin.

“Well hi there, darling,” Nigel returns the greeting with a rough, sleep-filled voice.

“I’m sorry for waking you, Nigel. You were crushing me.”

Adam’s own voice is filled with the remnants of sleep, but he’s used to waking up early and quickly, rarely ever requiring the aid of caffeine. He sits up and searches for his socks, which have been assaulted by Nigel’s movements during the night, the man unable to find a comfortable position until apparently deciding to use Adam as a human-pillow.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry. Guess you were comfier than my pillow, huh?”

“Apparently,” Adam finally finds his socks and shoves them on, and then he peers over at his friend.

The man is sprawled all long-limbed on the ground next to him, and despite initially feeling suffocated at having woken crushed against Nigel’s chest, the young man can appreciate how it had felt being held tightly -almost protectively, with his friend’s breath stirring his hair and fluttering hotly into his ear. It’s different, waking up next to someone, especially in a tent. It also makes it difficult to change into clean clothes.

“You need to leave my tent,” Adam states.

“I fucking what?” maroon eyes widen marginally, a mouth dropping open.

“I have to get changed, Nigel.”

“Oh! _Oh_ , right. Yeah, okay,” huffing, the bigger man scrambles around for his shirt, and then reaches to unzip the tent and crawl out.

He’s mostly successful, other than tripping on the way out, thankfully not managing to faceplant into the dirt outside. His curses make Adam smile as he changes into a dark blue long-sleeved shirt and black pants, and when he leaves the tent as well, he slips into his shoes waiting outside for him neatly. Nigel hasn’t bothered to put his own shirt on, having tucked it into the waistband of his pants to hang at his side, and he’s poking at the firepit when Adam makes his appearance.

“So, any plans for today?” the man asks when he spots Adam.

“No. I thought that maybe-” Adam cuts himself off and swallows around a sudden lump in his throat. “No. Let’s have breakfast.”

Nigel opens his mouth to say something, closes it instead, and together they sit down to eat a bowl of Adam’s cereal. The silence stretched between them is thin and awkward, reminiscent of the day when Adam had first pushed through the trees and found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. It takes the young man a significant amount of time to realize that he’s sad, since it’s their last day together. As they took turns looking through the telescope last night, he had made plans to take Nigel hiking again today, prepared this time and adhering to the trails, but now that it is the last day, he feels tired and saddened and unsure what to do other than dread the time when they would go to bed that night and then wake up to check out early the next morning.

He would get in his car and drive away and probably never see Nigel again.

The thought is far from pleasant, and must have been showing on his face, because Nigel stands, pulls his chair closer to Adam’s, and then sits down to finish his cereal with his feet nudging into the younger man’s own. He doesn’t say anything, however, and it’s that that cheers Adam up. He knows they are both not the best at talking about their feelings, as has been made apparent many times, and it’s all the more precious that Nigel understands that words would just make this day even more difficult.

“Hey, how ‘bout we just chill around here today?” the man finally says. “You can show me that book you always have out. Teach this old dog some new tricks or something.”

“I’d like that, Nigel,” Adam responds after finishing his last bite of cereal. “But even if you are old, you can always learn new things.”

The older man barks out a laugh at his friend’s words before he scarfs down the rest of his food. Adam cleans up their bowls and puts away the box of cereal -the third one out of his large supply, the first two finished off quicker thanks to them both enjoying breakfast together the last few days (Nigel eating more than one bowl often). He retrieves his book, stroking the cover gently and smiling down at it, and then looks up into the baby-blue sky spread over them. Another beautiful day, and he’s grateful that the rain hasn’t returned, though there are a few fat clouds drifting lazily above.

“What are you doing, Nigel?” Adam stops and blinks over at his friend.

“Huh? Fucking nothing, Adam. Give me a sec.”

The book forgotten, set aside onto the table, Adam takes a few faltering steps towards Nigel, who has turned away from him swiftly, running both hands back through his hair and then rubbing vigorously at his face. Adam knows his friend is hiding red-rimmed eyes and a few tears, because he’d managed to catch a quick glimpse. And yet he freezes, uncertain, not knowing what to do or how to describe the emotion tangling his guts together unpleasantly; he’s standing there barely a foot away from the man, feet stuck, body rigid, and his heart is racing, soaring along with his thoughts, feeling suddenly _stupid_. Of course he’s not the only one that’s sad today!

Five steps, and then he’s directly behind the taller man. 

Two breaths, and then he’s wrapping his arms around Nigel and nestling his cheek between the other’s shoulder blades.

“It’s okay,” he says softly. “I’m sad, too.”

“Awh shit. _Adam_ , come here.”

Nigel turns around in the embrace and gathers Adam against his chest, one arm circling a slim waist, the other wrapping firmly across his back, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of Adam’s neck. They’re both silent, and they’re both completely aware of the fact that it’s their last day together like this, adventuring through a camping trip that had turned out to be _so_ much more. For a long time they merely breath together, close and warm, hearts racing in sync, eventually slowing to a more relaxed pace that fills them both to the brim with emotion. Wordlessly, Adam pulls back slightly and reaches up to brush away the tears gathering in Nigel’s eyelashes.

“Don’t cry,” Adam whispers. “Or I will too. I don’t like crying.”

A watery laugh answers his words. Nigel nuzzles against the hand that moves to cup his stubbly cheek. The moment is precious to each of them.

“Can’t let that fucking happen” the man rumbles. “Alright, come on, let’s learn about the fucking stars, baby.”

Adam turns red at the new endearment, but he doesn’t argue -being called such a name, nor with Nigel’s suggestion. He steps back slowly from his friend and draws the other back to tent, snatching up the book and grasping Nigel’s hand in his own. They climb inside and settle back on their nest of sleeping bags and pillows, wrap themselves up in each other, and then peruse the well-loved book together.

*.*.*.*

Adam wakes with a start, book dislodged from where it had been resting open on his stomach. He’s too warm, and a familiar weight is close at hand, although not crushing. He looks up into maroon eyes, at a smile on lips that are close enough that he can feel Nigel breathing. 

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Adam says softly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, darling,” the grip around him tightens minutely.

“I am, though. I don’t want to waste our last day together sleeping, Nigel.”

Honest words, and a simple explanation for the weighty feeling that had the older man crying earlier. Adam is sorry for a second, to have put to words so bluntly what is tearing him apart slowly on the inside. He doesn’t regret it a moment later when Nigel takes his book, sets it reverently aside, and then pulls him into another hug that ends up with Adam being rolled on top of the older man, straddling his stomach with his cheek resting amidst the curly hair on the man’s chest. It’s incredibly intimate, but Adam doesn’t balk like he normally would have -instead, he lets out a long breath and rubs his nose into the soft and tickling surface beneath him.

“There’s no way this right here is in any fucking way a waste, Adam,” Nigel says from above.

Adam silently agrees. However, he still resents the fact that he had drifted so easily, lost a few precious hours of their time together. He endeavors to make up for it, to stop sulking and letting himself get tangled up with dread, and he brushes his anxiety away and looks up to smile at his friend brightly.

“You’re comfortable,” he claims. “I think you should be my pillow for now on, instead of vice versa. You’re too heavy.”

“Hah! Yeah, all those fucking marshmallows, I tell ya,” sharp teeth are bared in a grin. “And hey, you’re fucking light as a feather, so it works for me.”

“It’s not possible for a human to be as light as a feather,” the young man states.

“Yeah, yeah,” 

One hand is raised from behind Adam to wave in the air dismissively.They share a laugh, and then Adam sighs. He isn’t certain exactly what to say or feel or do in that moment, however he doesn’t mind this time. It’s nice to just relax and lay here, listen to Nigel’s strong heart thumping in his chest. He can remember when he and Beth used to do this, cuddled up under a blanket at his home in New York. The intimacy of the action is familiar and at the same time entirely new, and there’s no way to truly compare the two because each is beautiful in its own way. It’s enough for Adam to smile and relax, finally, and to enjoy Nigel’s company just as he had the last several days of their trip.

*.*.*.*

That night after dinner, they share the last bag of marshmallows, passing the roasting stick back and forth just as they had before, though it no longer matters what prong the sticky treat ends up on this time.

“I could eat these forever,” the man claims. “Even if I get fatter than a fucking air balloon.”

Adam can’t fight the giggle that rises out of his chest at that image. He accepts the roasting stick and extends his own snack into the fire until it is suitably burnt, explaining all the while that it isn’t physically possible for that to happen to Nigel’s body. Maroon eyes roll skyward, the man’s own laughter mingling with Adam’s. It’s remarkable to the younger man, how at ease he feels. He can count the amount of times he’s felt like this on one hand -at least when it came to social interactions or relationships of any type. He’s honestly a happy person, he doesn’t mind being regarded as a loner because he does prefer solitude.

Now, though, he can’t imagine his life without Nigel’s gruff, cursing presence.

He knows realistically that there’s nothing keeping them from staying in contact, of course. He fully intends to give Nigel his number before they part ways in the morning, in fact. Adam just doesn’t put much stock into his own ability to continue to stay in contact, especially when it comes to distance -though admittedly that has less to do with his own shortcomings than the niggling voice that tells him that Nigel will most likely forget him. Even as he smiles and jests with the man in person now, he knows that this trip has had an impossible magical quality to it that he’s convinced will not carry on passed the brief reprieve from his life in LA.

It’s bittersweet, really. Bitter like the impending separation, sweet as the sugary fluffiness of the marshmallows that they polish off with gusto. Afterwards, they sit close, hands clasped between them and their chairs, watching the fire’s choreography and the sparks that fly from the smoke reaching for the night sky, the crackling from the burning wood a peaceful background sound.

“You know,” Nigel says softly. “I only came out here to get drunk and fucking feel bad for myself.”

“Why?” Adam frowns.

“Life, Adam. Fucking life,” a gentle squeeze from Nigel’s hand follows his words. “Fact is, though, instead of getting drunk off my stupid ass and probably getting escorted off the campgrounds, I met you.”

“You still managed to get pretty drunk,” the young man states. “The first night you were very loud.”

“Yeah, I fucking was, huh?”

“It’s okay, though. I still like you,” Adam continues.

His comment is rewarded with a hearty laugh from Nigel, head thrown back and teeth once more gleaming in the firelight. He’s a beautiful man, Adam can admit. Truthfully, he’s never really paid much attention to physical attributes, especially considering the fact that he struggled with social ones. But this man holding his hand so tightly is different in so many ways. Adam feels like a puzzle piece that has found it’s match, finally, after being lost and separated by life and circumstance.

Even if it’s only temporary, Adam is thankful.

When they go to bed that night, they spread Nigel’s sleeping bag unzipped beneath them, and cover up with Adam’s. Their pillows are set next to each other, and they hold each other close long into the night. The crickets serenade them from outside in the underbrush, and the stars continue to twinkle down at the campsite, sheltered from a light drizzle that they can both hear _tip-tapping_ on the tent’s top. 

“I’m not gonna fucking forget this,” Nigel proclaims pointedly.

Adam doesn’t respond with words. He merely pulls Nigel closer to nuzzle against his cheek, letting his actions translate his feelings and intentions. He tangles one of his hands in his friend’s hair, and finds out that it is as soft as it looks. They fall asleep one shortly after the other. 

*.*.*.*

“Alright, all my shit is packed,” Nigel tumbles through the trees, returning from his previously abandoned campsite.

Adam looks up from where he’s tucking his telescope away onto the back seat of his car. The small inlet of land that had been each of their home the past week is bare, and the firepit is blackened with ash and dotted with fresh cigarette butts.

“I’ve also finished,” he says.

He closes the trunk and then stands awkwardly, unsure what to do or say.

“Well, then, guess it’s time.”

Nigel’s voice is watery again, and Adam faces him. No tears this time. They move nearly at the same time, Adam launching himself forward, and Nigel opening his arms wide. The hug is nearly suffocatingly tight, and the younger man squeaks when he’s lifted clear off his feet for a few seconds. 

“Nigel, I can’t breath!” he gasps out.

“I can’t, either,” the man chokes out, setting the other on his feet but not letting go. “Fucking hell, Adam, I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll call you,” the younger man promises.

“Every fucking day?”

Adam nods against Nigel’s chest, arms secured around a thick waist. They fit together so well, and Adam knows he could be happy never letting go again. Unfortunately, check out is in ten minutes, and Adam has work to return to. That, and a big, empty house. 

“Every fucking day,” he says seriously, and he doesn’t even stutter on the swear word.

If anyone had told Adam that he’d be leaving his camping trip changed, he wouldn’t have listened. He’d come here to look at the stars and get away from the city. Instead, he’d found something more precious and lingering.

Adam Raki had found love.

They parted ways at the squat brick building, Adam in his car, Nigel in his van. Then, they proceeded to drive in the same direction.

Turns out, neither of them had stated just what city they had both been getting away from in the first place.


End file.
